Forever Alice
by Kuroneko19
Summary: "Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation." – Kahlil Gibran; She made a promise she was unable to keep, and Time was forced to a standstill. But a wish of the heart can be granted if one truly believes...
1. Prologue: All My Days Have Been a Dream

_**Author's Note: **__Greetings and salutations! I am Kuroneko19, but feel free to call me K-chan. ^_^ Ordinarily, I write for the anime fan fiction archives, but recently my creative writing attentions have turned to Tim Burton's version of __**Alice in Wonderland**__._

_The pairing here, being as it is a romance at base, is Alice Kingsleigh and Tarrant Hightopp, AKA the Mad Hatter, but with an original character added in, creating a rather … __**interesting**__ triangle. This little tale plays on the concepts of soul mates, reincarnation, and the transcendence of love through time. _

_This is a new idea that came to mind shortly after being exposed to the film and watching it. Please remember: all questions, comments, constructive criticisms, and/or suggestions are welcome and appreciated. Thank you!_

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><p><em><strong>Disclaimer:<strong>__ I own nothing from Tim Burton's __**Alice in Wonderland**__. I just like to write. ^_^_

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><p><strong>Forever Alice<strong>_  
><em>By Kuroneko

_Take this kiss upon the brow!  
>And, in parting from you now,<br>Thus much let me avow –  
>You are not wrong, who deem<br>That my days have been a dream_  
>– Edgar Allan Poe, <em>A Dream Within a Dream<em>

**Prologue: All My Days Have Been a Dream**

Outside in the torrential rain, men ran about in a frenzied rush to tie down what they could, tugging each other along in pairs so as not to lose a single one of them in the violently crashing waves.

'_I find it all so very hard to believe that over a full two years have passed since I last saw England's shores.'_

"Pull down the rigging and furl the sails!" the first mate bellowed over the screeching wind, his voice being carried away faster than it could reach the sailors' ears. The few that could make out the command hastily grabbed at others nearby who likely hadn't and relayed the message, and set to work as quickly as possible.

'_It's a pity that I won't be able to see it again.'_

Wave after wave slammed into the hull of the _Endeavor_, shaking both crew and passengers violently as the ship threatened to capsize. From her bed, Alice Kingsleigh could make out every sound, every wail. She could hear what sounded like the cabin boy, a neophyte to the seas like herself, singing hymns in an attempt not to panic.

She laid down her journal and pen and sank back into the mound of pillows just behind her, closing her eyes. Her journey to and from China had been an adventurous one. Cabin fever, seasickness, storms, the occasionally unruly rigger – so much had happened in these last two-and-a-half years.

And yet…

A loud cry from the captain accompanied by an even louder clap of thunder and bright flash of lightning caused her eyes to flutter open. Everything seemed to come to her with mind numbing clarity as the brightly illuminated room suddenly pitched back into semi-darkness, the only light now coming from the gaslight over her bed.

The storm itself and the chaos it wrought presented her no worries, however strange it may have sounded. For what it was worth, she'd enjoyed doing business in China. It was her father's dream and ambition, and it took only one woman and backing from a family friend to overthrow what a group of men in high society had for a long time scoffed at. And she'd been given Lord Ascot's assurance that he'd not let her father's company fall into what she'd heard whispered concerns of in certain circles and the resulting tension towards European trading in the Orient.

Times changed as society moved towards the future. Hopefully, a future that would be a positive one.

'_I wish I could see it.'_

She sat up a little straighter and looked down at her journal. Page after page of thoughts, memories, dreams, and sketches. This little pocketbook was her legacy, she felt; a way for her to return to all those wonderful though perhaps occasionally frightening times. She could turn to one page and reminisce over the precious moments she'd spent with her father just before he passed away. She could turn another few and find the musings she'd had one particular evening over the riddle of what a raven and a writing desk had in common. It was amazing how much one could find out about oneself simply by writing it down and reading over it.

Alice let out a sigh and looked out to the turbulent seas. Before the return voyage, she'd dreaded seeing England again; dreaded facing her mother and sister Margaret after two years of trying to find her place in a man's world. But now, all she wanted was to catch just one glimpse of her homeland if only briefly. It would be too much to think she'd be able to see them all again.

"Alice?" she looked over as the door leading into the hallway opened gently with a slight creak, revealing Lord Ascot's concerned features in the dim lighting. A moment's careful study with his eyes passed before his sight rested on the open journal in her lap. A bit of a grin crept over his face. "Writing again, I see."

"It helps to pass the time," she replied, sporting her own small smile as Lord Ascot slipped into her room and shut the door behind him.

"How are you feeling this evening, my dear?"

Alice frowned inwardly at the inquiry, but kept the smile for her mentor's sake. "About the same as before, I'm sorry to say."

Lord Ascot's face fell. "I would have the doctor come in to check you again, but one of the riggers had a nasty fall and I'm afraid he's going to be utterly swamped with this storm."

"It's quite all right," she assured him, looking back out at the squall. "I feel sorry Dr. Stonebridge – this really is terrible weather. I hope it passes soon."

"As do I," the lord agreed, then began to feel uncomfortable in the small cabin. "Alice, if there is anything you need at all, please don't hesitate to –"

"I promise you, I'm fine," she interrupted again, this time with a note of exasperation in her voice. The smile became stern. "Shouldn't you be more concerned about the ship? She is yours, after all."

"I am," he admitted with a forced laugh at the girl's gibe. "But I am _far_ more concerned over the wellbeing of my friend's daughter and my apprentice. One can never be too certain with illnesses on the seas, my dear. Are you positive you're doing well?"

"Well enough." Being as he was near, Alice reached a hand out to grasp one of his much larger ones, and gave it a squeeze as assurance. "But you really ought to see to things. You'll need to keep an ear out for the damages and losses."

"Yes, yes… I suppose you're right." A small smile reappeared underneath his mustache as his gaze fell to her open journal. "Someday, I should like to hear more of your Wonderland."

She followed his gaze and shook her head. "When my journal is finished, I would be honored for you to read it. There is more to my 'Wonderland' than just what I've told you – so much more."

"I don't doubt it for a moment." He let his hand fall from her grasp and backed away slowly to the door. "And now, my dear, I'm afraid I must take my leave. I will be back to check on you once the storm has settled. In the meantime, please rest."

"I will, thank you," she replied as he began to slip out into the corridor. But the elderly face turned once more in her direction, and Lord Ascot's brow furrowed as he considered her small and fragile frame.

"I mean what I say, Alice: you must rest. Good evening."

Her own bid of farewell was lost as the door shut, and her smile fell completely from her face. Inwardly, she grimaced at the pain she worked so hard to conceal; for all the pain relievers the doctor on board the _Endeavor_ had given her, the aches and fevers would scarcely lessen, and the red rashes would not fade. If not for her continuous and often labored writing, Alice feared she'd succumb to the delirium often associated with this disease.

Again, she took up her pen and continued to write, ignoring the flare of pain that shot up from the base of her skull as she kept her head bent. No matter the torment the illness wrought within her, she was determined to finish this one last project before she could claim any kind of satisfaction.

_Ship fever_, the sailors called it. It wasn't the first time Dr. Thomas Stonebridge had seen the illness, though he'd never had the occasion to treat a woman for it. Typhus was a terrible disease, and without proper inland treatment in a hospital as opposed to the paltry care offered on the _Endeavor_, her prognosis only worsened. Helen Kingsleigh's much-harped fears of her darling youngest daughter falling ill had at last been confirmed, and only time would tell if Alice's mother would be able to scold her for her recklessness in taking off to a foreign country.

Thoughts of her mother soon faded as carefully scripted letters in black ink etched onto the crisp, white pages as Alice continued to write despite the ship's thrashing. Her mind settled instead on another world entirely.

She closed her eyes and pictured that place she'd long though existed only in her mind, trying to capture it for even a moment. It seemed so long ago that she'd gone beyond her wildest imaginings and ventured into the chaotic unknown of a supposed dream. The six impossible things she'd believe in each morning before going to breakfast had become ever more real and tangible in such a short time.

Another crack of thunder roused her from fond memories of a queen of white, a cat with a grin, and brightly colored hatter. As much as she longed to be nearer to them now, Alice knew all too well that such a wish was unlikely to be granted.

The pen began to write again.

Careful scratches against the fresh, new papers she'd sewn into the binding (she'd long since used the provided pages, and required more for her endeavor), the ominous thunder bellowed in the background. To her, it seemed an atmosphere befitting of a dime novel and not a young lady's memoirs.

'_Of course, it would have to be this way,'_ she thought with a slightly pained smile playing on her lips. _'Since when have I ever been one for conformity?'_

It seemed like an eternity before she crossed the last "t" and dotted the last "i" and finally set her pen aside next to the inkwell. She watched in pained silence as the ink continued to dry, and carefully set the journal aside before glancing over to the small nightstand by her bed. Just beyond the pen and inkpot lay a small stack of letters held together with a thin strand of twine and held down by a jade stone she'd acquired while in China. With one hand shaking from unbridled pain, she set the stone aside and took up the letters. She fell back into the pillows and coughed pitifully – she hadn't felt so terrible before. But she did not call out for help, nor did she make any attempt to bring attention to herself. She'd come to this final resignation days ago, when she realized just how far from shore they were. These letters were precious, almost as much so as her journal. They were addressed to those she held most dear in this world, and were to be read as soon as reached the hands of their intended audiences.

She reached into her dress pocket, from which she pulled a pale blue ribbon – a gift from her beloved and departed father. Carefully, Alice placed the letters just over the front cover of her now closed journal and removed the twine around them. Tying the ribbon around the journal and letters made her feel almost as if she were wrapping a gift.

In a way, she supposed she was. Memories were the most precious of gifts, after all.

"_You won't remember me."_

That sweet and gentle voice came to her as clear as birds chirping on a fine spring day. He had been so convinced that she'd forget again, that she'd fail to recall even her dearest friend…

"But I _do_ remember you, Hatter," she whispered back to the voice, as if the man himself were there to hear. "I remember all of you: Mallymkin, Chessur, the March Hare…"

Her voice trailed off; the sentence remained unfinished. She suddenly became aware of another presence in her quarters, and extended one painfully shaking hand in its direction.

"Hello again, Absolem," she said the blue winged butterfly as it landed gently in her palm. Its antennae twitched, and in her now swimming vision, she could see its head cocked to one side as it regarded her for a moment. Alice couldn't help but laugh. "I'm not quite a champion in this state, I'm afraid. I was hoping my return to England would be more of a cheerful affair."

The butterfly did not answer, save for the gently slowing flutter of its wings.

"I'd meant to come back, you know," she continued, finding her voice begin to crack with the unshed tears. "I've done everything I said I would: I answered my questions and I did what I could to fulfill my father's dream. The only thing left was to keep my word." One lone tear finally fell. "I don't know if I'll be able to do that now."

The fluttering ceased and the butterfly remained still. Through her increasingly blurry vision, Alice could almost see the consternation on the insect's face. It was a sensation she herself had often felt in this world: the helplessness one felt while watching another's suffering.

In his own world, Absolem held answers and the keys to them; provided the appropriate nudging at just the right moments. But here in the land above, where the colors seemed far less vibrant and instead held a certain lifelessness to them, he had no power. Here, he could not offer her his wisdom – only the silent understanding of a friend.

In that silence, Alice began to realize just how much she longed for just one more day in her beloved "Wonderland". Just one more time to hear the Tweedles, dodge a projectile from the March Hare, see the Hatter…

"_I'll be back before you know it."_

"I'd heard of a wonderfully strange and almost mad notion while I was away in China," she said as the tears continued to stream. "In a few of the temples I visited out of curiosity, they spoke of the possibility of a person to return to the world in another form."

The butterfly's wings twitched slightly.

"It isn't so uncommon – I've read from several of Lord Ascot's books, and there are many cultures that believe it can be achieved." She smiled despite the pain and tears. "I suppose it must be the same in Underland, as you were reborn from a caterpillar into a butterfly." The pain seared and she let out a sharp gasp, clutching her small bundle of her journal and letters with one hand, mindful not to grip the butterfly as well.

The butterfly itself gently beat its wings and fluttered gently up over the girl before resting on her chest, just over where her heart beat erratically. Inexplicably blue eyes met her wavering brown ones.

"_You aren't alone now,"_ it seemed to say.

"I'm so glad I was able to see you again, Absolem." She felt a warmth begin to spread along her body from where the butterfly sat. However familiar and comforting it felt, however, it certainly made her drowsy. "I've found seven impossible things to believe in today… Seven and not just six…" Her head nodded, but she fought back with a will, not ready to succumb just yet.

"I'm so tired… I wanted to go back again, Absolem… I still do… I want to see them again… you, the White Queen… and the Hatter…"

The butterfly flapped its wings more fervently than before, and all around swirled a blue cloud. Slowly, its wings began to dissolve into the smoke, only its brilliant blue eyes remaining tangible as it disappeared. In her mind, Alice could hear Absolem's voice speaking to her, offering her the farewell he'd given her on Frabjous Day once upon a memory:

"_Fairfarren, Alice. Perhaps I will see you in another life."_

"Faifarren, Absolem," she whispered as the butterfly dissolved from sight. "Maybe we _will_ see each other again… I'd like that very much…"

She felt her eyelids grow heavy, and allowed the darkness of unconsciousness to overwhelm her at last.

**…**

**…**

**…**

_A warm hand pressed gently upon her forehead, causing her to stir from her sleep. Just beyond the fog of her mind, she could hear her name being whispered repeatedly, all the time in a kind and familiar voice._

"_Alice? Alice, dear, are you awake?"_

_A pair of clear brown eyes fluttered open and met with an even darker set – ones that sparkled with an internal twinkle, so full of life and imagination._

"_Father?" she sat up and reached out a tentative hand towards his face. In both of his, he clasped it, and brought it to his cheek. She felt his warmth and could smell his cologne._

_Charles Kingsleigh smiled down upon the girl. "Hello, darling."_

_She choked back her tears and hugged him fiercely, her golden locks tumbling down her back and cascading over her shoulders as she sobbed. _

"_You've grown into such a fine young woman, my dear," he whispered, running a free hand through her hair in long and gentle strokes. "A radiant beauty. Tell me…" she released her hold on him long enough for him to hold her at an arm's length and examine her with a smile. "Have you been dreaming lately?"_

"_For as long as I can remember," she answered, still in awe at the spectre before her. Gone were those haggard and ruined features of sagging skin and sunken eyes that the illness had given him shortly before his death. He looked younger again, just as he had when she was a child. "All my days and nights have been a continuous dream it seems." She cocked her head to one side at a sudden thought. "Would that be considered a bad thing?"_

"_Absolutely not, darling," Charles replied, tapping her on the nose. He rose from the bed she was in and extended a hand, which she readily accepted. "That feeling of being in a continuous dream is just one way of knowing you've lived your life as you should have, and that you lived well."_

_Alice's bare feet touched the ground – she was surprised that she felt neither hot nor cold, nor did she feel any of the pain of the disease that had ravaged her body. But, strangely, she felt no fear: the warmth of her father's hand and the knowledge that they were together once again was all the reassurance she felt she'd ever need again._

"_You must tell me more about your days and nights of dreams," Charles continued, tugging at her hand gently. "I want to hear everything, Alice. We've so much to catch up on in the time we've been separated."_

_She nodded, and followed obediently, latching onto his arm like she'd done when she was small. He guided her away from the room she hadn't realized they been in._

_And there was a question she'd longed to ask him ever since she'd heard it…_

"_Father, have you any idea why a raven is like a writing desk?"_

_Charles laughed and shook his head, but his eyes held their merry twinkle. "My dear, I haven't the faintest notion, but together I think you and I may come to an answer."_

_The two continued arm-in-arm, speaking fervently._

_It was then that somewhere in another place, far from where the spirits dwelled yet near all the same, the squall ceased its assault on the _Endeavor_, and the ocean fell into an eerie calm._

**…**

It was long afterward, when the moon hung high in the dark abyss of night and the star-scattered expanse reflected against the calming waves that Lord Ascot was able to check up on his apprentice to see if she'd at long last fallen asleep despite the violent storm.

How long had it been since she'd had a proper night's sleep? He couldn't help but wonder; Alice had been ill for quite some time, yet spoke nothing of the subject until the symptoms manifested all too obviously for them to miss. She'd hidden the rashes, bit back the pain. Her discomfort must have been great, but her determination was far greater.

He couldn't help but to admire the young woman. She was so much like her father in her ideas and stubbornness – it made him think that Charles had somehow never left them.

The lord hesitated before rapping gently on her cabin door. If she was indeed asleep, he wouldn't have wanted to awaken her.

Upon receiving no answer save for the sound of the waves now gently slapping against the _Endeavor_'s hull, he turned the knob and slowly pushed the door open.

"Alice?" his voice came out in barely a whisper. In the dim lighting coming from the gaslight above her bed, Lord Ascot could make out her eerily still form, one hand clutched over her chest and the other grasping what looked to be her journal.

Ill at ease by the unnatural silence that had settled the cabin, he drew nearer to her prone form, eyes adjusting slowly in the darkness. A hesitating hand reached out to touch the one she'd lain over the small and curiously bound volume.

He drew back in shock upon feeling the lifelessness of it.

He grasped her wrist, and felt desperately for a pulse, wanting so much for him to be overreacting. Feeling not even the slightest sign of life, he went for the other, only to be met with the same result.

It took all his strength and societal reserve to gently place her hand back over her chest, which neither rose nor fell with life-giving breath. Somewhere in the frenzy of his mind, he connected the blue ribbon binding Alice's journal to be keeping a small stack of letters against it, the top one bearing his name in her careful script.

It was this bundle he took up almost reverently, and stepped back while slipping it all into his coat pocket. Lord Ascot was not the man young he had been in the past, nor was he quite old; but he'd seen the death of friends, peers, and casual acquaintances alike, and never had the notion settled well.

There was only one consolation in this heart shattering moment that he could grasp at while still maintaining his dignity and not giving way to the rolling emotions that could have rivaled the storm from earlier:

Alice Kingsleigh had at long last been reunited with her father.

**…**

In deepest of night, when the crescent moon smiled upon the strange lands like the grin of the Cheshire Cat, a deep and horrible rumbling shook every last living being to its core, and frightened a great many into a panic.

In her luminescent palace in Marmoreal, the White Queen Mirana swept out onto the balcony of her royal chambers, looking towards at the cherry blossom lined paths leading out into the country. As Queen of Underland, she'd felt the quake ever so much keener and deeper than her subjects, for only the true ruler could be at one with the land. Underland reacted to her monarchs as any living entity: rejected those she detested, and embraced those who truly loved the land and all its inhabitants.

This closeness was a trait of the monarchy that Iracebeth of Crims could never have attained.

"Excuse me, your Majesty." She turned at the sound of a nervous from behind, discovering Nivens McTwisp looking up to her in the middle of his gracious bow. "Forgive me for my intrusion, but I came to see if you were doing all right in this panic."

"I am fine, McTwisp," she replied, giving him a gracious nod in return before looking back out to the night horizon with a furrowed brow. "It's Underland that I'm concerned for. This sudden upset is far too unsettling for my tastes."

"You don't suppose there could be trouble in the Outerlands…?" the white rabbit inwardly shuddered at the thought – those who hailed from the Outerlands were not of the most amiable nature.

"You fool of a rabbit – the Outerlands should be the least of your worries at the present," a stern voice interjected before the queen could respond.

McTwisp let out a gasp of shock as Mirana whirled around. Between them, a small cloud of blue smoke billowed and swirled, growing quickly before fading and revealing a blue butterfly whose wings beat against the smoke almost fiercely.

"Absolem," Mirana greeted the newcomer with a courteous nod. "I'd wondered where you'd disappeared to these last few days."

"Have you any news concerning this…" McTwisp fumbled for the proper title. "… predicament?"

A strange look passed over Absolem's face before he answered.

"Just beyond the curtain behind you, McTwisp, is the Oraculum. Please bring it here for your queen to observe."

Sharing one startled glance with the White Queen, McTwisp hurried into the room and returned to the balcony with equal haste, nearly skidding into Mirana before handing her the scroll. Mirana gave him a nod of thanks before gracefully, if not hesitantly, unfurling the long parchment.

Beneath her elegant exterior, the White Queen was almost frightened. What she'd felt from the land did not bode favorable tidings, and for Absolem to have brought the Oraculum to her in such short notice after his long absence only increased her unease ever further.

Dark eyes scanned over the aged document, looking over the many illustrations of past events, some fondly remembered and others not so much. It was not until her eyes came to rest on the illustration for the present day that she let out a gasp and very nearly dropped the compendium.

"Your Majesty?" McTwisp felt the fur rise all over his body. What could possibly have…?

"I never thought this day would come so quickly…" Mirana whispered faintly, as she handed the scroll to her page. The white rabbit looked down at the illustration and let out a sharp cry.

In careful black ink set the aged parchment, the image of a young woman with long and flowing locks lay still on a bed of flowers, hands folded as if in reverence over her chest. Though she looked to be merely asleep, the faint spectral images surrounding her indicated a far more grievous scenario than mere sleep.

It was the Sleep of Ages, Sleep the Everlasting. And it had been bestowed upon the one person McTwisp could scarcely fathom ever truly venturing forth into the last realm.

"Alice… _the_ Alice… she…" he couldn't bring himself to say the words. "Th-th-there must be some mistake! This can't be true!"

"The Oraculum doesn't lie, nor does it make mistakes. I myself watched as she took her final breath," Absolem said gravely, his word accentuated by a low rumble in the distance.

Mirana looked out to her courtyard. "And so the land is grieving… protesting… her Champion's demise." She closed her eyes as if to block out the very idea. "And we so longed for her to return."

"Long for it still, if you desire," said Absolem, earning him a bewildered look from McTwisp. "For no matter what the circumstances, Underland's Champion must eventually return."

"But Alice is gone…" the white rabbit's eyes widened at a sudden thought. "The Hatter… oh, he won't like this at all… he'll be so far gone to madness when he finds out that –!"

"Silence, please, Nivens," Mirana interrupted with one hand held up in protest. McTwisp instantly hushed. For his queen to address him by his given named indicated an immediate need for his cooperation.

Absolem gave the rabbit a withering look. "The Hatter's descent into madness may be inevitable, and yet it may not. For now, the primary concern is to wait for the inevitable return of our Champion."

"Until the time that our Champion returns, I fear that Underland may revert back to the days of Iracebeth's reign in regards to its wellbeing," Mirana admitted, and watched with sadness as the wind picked up and sent thousands of cherry blossoms scattering. "Underland will not remain safe so long as there is no champion to defend her."

"Until the time Underland's Champion returns," Absolem said, slowly dissolving into blue smoke, "Time will not allow the land to progress any further than it deems necessary. Many will sleep, but will not age. This is how our land reacts when there is no Champion to defend her: _true_ _change_ will not come to pass."

"But how will we know who the new Champion is?" McTwisp fretted, wringing his hands together. Somewhere in the conversation, he'd felt he'd been left out. How could anyone, even _the_ Alice, return after being conferred the Sleep of Eternity? "Alice – _the_ Alice is _dead_! Who will replace her?"

Absolem's blue eyes focused in his direction before they too dissolved, and soon all the Queen and her page could hear was the butterfly's echoing voice and chuckle being carried along with the cherry blossom petals:

"_Again, McTwisp, you can be such a fool. Whoever said that the blood of the Jabberwocky would only grant __**one**__ wish of the heart?"_

They watched with bated breath as the winds died and petals fell, leaving the trees surrounding Marmoreal bare and vulnerable, casting an unsettling shadow upon the kingdom at night.

"Then we will wait," McTwisp heard the White Queen mutter as she surveyed the land with evident sadness. She looked to him with that same sadness, but offered him a small smile. "Until the day our Champion returns, or until a new one emerges… we will wait for however long is necessary."

He bit back the many questions that threatened to emerge, and instead joined his queen at the balcony railing. As one they listened as thunder sounded in the distance, and together they saw large droplets of rain descend upon the land. One particularly fat one hit McTwisp on the nose: on instinct, he licked at the offending droplet and was astounded to find that it had a salty quality to it.

It tasted very much like a tear.

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><p><em><strong>AN:**__ The introductory chapter turned out far more melancholy than I originally intended, but it sets the stage for future events, which is very important to the plot. Never fear, however, for we will see everyone again (some much sooner than others and others one might never expect ^_^). Until the next chapter, in which we will meet Underland's soon-to-be unintended visitor – Fairfarren. ^_^_


	2. Chapter 1: Nowhere Near Home

_**Author's Note: **__I will openly admit that my created character's name is highly unoriginal and mainstream in the realm of the fandom. However, I do this with good reason in regards to the plot – seldom do I entertain stereotypes and clichés without the appropriate counter. ;)_

_Please remember: all questions, comments, constructive criticisms, and/or suggestions are welcome and appreciated. Thank you! ^_^_

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><p><em>I recalled the voice I had heard; again I questioned whence it came, as vainly as before: it seemed in <em>_me__ — not in the external world. I asked, was it a mere nervous impression — a delusion?  
><em>– _Jane Eyre_ by Charlotte Brontë

**Chapter 1: Nowhere Near Home**

_She descended from the hill and looked around hesitantly. The land was dying, if not already dead. The orange- and red-tinged sky hung ominously overhead like an omen, and the blackened foliage surrounding her only strengthened her unease._

'What happened to this place?'_ she wondered, casting her wary gaze about the land. _'Has it always been this desolate?'

_She pushed back the decaying leaves and stepped out from her hiding place. Just ahead was a long table (or perhaps a series of tables? It seemed too ungainly and crooked to be only one) draped in what used to be a white cloth, now more yellowed and brown from stains. Piles of cup and dishes, many of them broken, lay scattered about as if left in frenzy. Beyond and to the left was a battered old windmill, its arms broken and unmoving._

_There was not a soul to be found; not a sound to be heard._

_No good could have come from this kind of desolation. Never had she seen anything like this, save the gritty photographs of battlegrounds she'd come across in her history textbooks. It was as if time itself had frozen and she was the lone observer._

_No… she __**had**__ seen __**something**__ like this before… things burned and black beyond recognition…_

_She took a step back, not certain that she was willing to stay one moment longer in this barren graveyard of the unknown. Yet she remained curious all the same; she hadn't the faintest idea how she'd wound up in this morbid place, but something about the table and chairs before her rang a kind of warm familiarity despite the chill that washed over her._

_And then she caught sight of it: a flash of electric orange. _

_Blinking fiercely, she stumbled forward. In the seat at the head of the table, which had been empty only a moment before, sat a man. A large top hat covered over his features, and his hands were folded over his chest, as if sulking or sleeping._

'Or dead.'_ The thought struck a chord somewhere in the back of her mind, and without even thinking she bolted towards him, praying that there was at least one other living soul than herself in this strange location._

"_Sir?" she tried, slowing her pace and creeping cautiously up to the slouched figure. If he were merely asleep, she would have felt guilty for awakening him in her momentary panic. "Excuse me, sir?"_

_There was a low mumble from his lips, one that she couldn't quite make out. Hesitantly, she laid a hand on his shoulder and shook him gently._

"_Sir?"_

_And then she heard him mumble again, only this time she could just make out his words:_

"_Have you any idea why a raven is like a writing desk?"_

_She abruptly removed her hand and sputtered, but then she felt herself trip and begin to fall backwards…_

**_…_**

Allyson Bennett awoke with a start, and let out a sharp gasp as the side of her head collided with the window as the car went over a pothole.

"Ally, sweetie? Is everything all right?" a lightly accented voice two seats ahead asked. Shaking off the feeling of disorientation, she looked up to find a set of large brown eyes staring at her worriedly in the rearview mirror.

The car jolted once again on the uneven roads, but this time she was able to prevent another encounter with the glass. Ally blinked several times, and noticed that three other pairs of eyes were upon her as well. The third pair she felt more than saw; Zachary always had that kind of presence.

"I-I'm okay, Aunt Becky," she said, wincing inwardly at how weak her voice sounded. "I just dozed off, that's all."

"You sure?" Rebecca Shelton-Crawford turned to look at the girl, not at all convinced.

"Oi, Mum, watch the road or you'll get us creamed!" Gunther yelped, and pointed. His mother spun round and snapped the steering wheel just in time to avoid an oncoming bus from the other side.

"Honestly, Mum, you were about to get us all killed," Valerie moaned, slouching in the passenger seat and clutching her head in relief. The sixteen-year-old looked over her shoulder again and glared at older girl in the third row, every inch of her face saying, _'And it would've been all __**your**__ fault.'_

Ally returned the glare with a cold, blank stare; her mismatched blue and brown eyes focused entirely on the blonde. After a moment, Valerie shuddered involuntarily and returned to her cell phone, likely into the realms of social networking if her most recent cell phone bills were any indication.

There were times when Ally wanted cringe – even at a young age she'd unnerved people with those eyes of hers. The only times her heterochromia worked in her favor were when she was _deliberately_ being intimidating. Or at least trying.

"Well, now that we've had the scare of our lives…" Rebecca laughed nervously. "We should be getting there in another fifteen to twenty minutes, so let's all just relax. Zach, honey, are you doing all right?"

"Yes, Aunt Becky…" Ally cast a sideways glance at her twelve-year-old brother, who looked to be absorbed in some science fiction novel he'd picked up at a convenience store before they'd left the city. He hadn't so much as budged from the seventeenth page since before she'd fallen asleep. The only indication that he was aware of his surroundings was the sickening pallor his face had taken just as the car had swerved. She could only imagine what _her_ face looked like…

"Well…" the woman hesitate for a moment. "Ally, how's your head?"

"It's okay," she replied, looking back out the window at the passing scenery. She pulled the bill of the baseball cap further down to cover her face.

"Are you two sure you're all right?" their caretaker cast another glance to the third row of seats in the old station wagon. "Because if you want to, we can –"

"They said they're okay, Mum!" Gunther snapped from his place in the second row, venting out his frustration on his handheld game.

Silence befell the vehicle; the only sound coming from the radio, what she could make out of _Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da_ battling static for dominance of the airwaves. Try as they might, it sounded as if The Beatles were fighting a losing battle.

Everything faded into the background as Ally continued to focus on the rapidly passing scenery. As bad as she'd felt about it, she knew that lying to the overprotective woman was the best way not to worry her. She simply did what she normally did these days and slipped on the headphones that had fallen round her neck during her slumber – a nice dose of crackle-free music would at least relieve _some_ of the tension creeping up the back of her skull until she could down a pill without everyone watching.

The thought of the medication made her want to cringe even more than her eyes – it seemed like everything these days was solved by a pill: pills for pleasure, pills for pain, pills to alter the chemical balances of a person's brain…

She smirked a little at the impromptu rhyme. Her mother would have found it amusing.

A quick press of the play button on her digital audio player issued forth an upbeat drum rhythm, followed not long after by a guitar and synthesizer, and soon a set of lyrics that Ally could hardly understand. It was one of several songs her friend Bethany Howell had given her before the school year ended. She didn't quite remember what the title, and she wasn't very adept understanding the lyrics – after all, they were in a foreign language – but it was a welcome distraction. Beth, ever the foreign music fanatic, hadn't kidded her when she said the music would do the girl some good when she was stressed out and the migraines came round. Ally had the translations stored somewhere in the USB Beth gave her as a goodbye present, but for the moment she preferred not to know what the band was singing about; she didn't want to ruin the effect it was having on her.

Tree passed after seemingly lifeless tree, car after dull car. Everything going in and out of London seemed to have been blanched out by the grey of the early morning sky and dulled by the rain that was certain to follow. The world seemed to have lost much of its color in the past three months: when the flowers bloomed and scattered in London's parks, its vibrancy seemed to have been killed at some point before the spring thaw.

At least that was how it felt to her.

A small vibration in the pocket of her jeans jolted her out of her downward spiral of thoughts and back into reality. Shaking herself mentally, she pulled her cell phone out and flipped top up, the incoming text message alert still causing the phone to shake. Seeing that it was from her brother, she quickly opened it.

**U OK?**

She allowed her gaze to shift in Zachary's direction; careful not to attract attention of Rebecca, who was still giving her intermittent glances in the rearview mirror. Zach's hazel green eyes met hers before retreating back to page seventeen of his book.

Ally's own gaze reverted to the window while she subconsciously counted the number of times to hit each button to spell out her message.

**Guess so. Didn't get n e sleep last nite.** She sent the message after viewing it briefly and soon heard the faint buzz of Zach's phone over the fading of her current song. To the average person, sending a text message to the person sitting right next to you would be considered a waste of minutes; but for Ally and Zach, it was their own special way of communication. Aside from the usual facial expressions and slight gestures that they used around others, text messaging was the next best thing. It became the most convenient for them to talk and not be heard when it came to really important matters that they didn't want anyone else to know about.

Her cell phone vibrated again.

**U were dreaming just now. U were mumbling in ur sleep again. Was it the cat dream?**

Ally hesitated before she hit the reply button. The dreams she'd had about a cat with a grin that stayed behind even after it vanished had been the most frequent lately. And it always asked the same question: _"What do you call yourself?"_

**No, it wasn't that 1 this time,** she responded after a moment. **It was the 1 with the guy in the top hat. Tell u more l8r.**

She sent the message and silently closed the phone before slipping her phone back into her pocket. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as he read the message and gave her an ever-so-slight nod before returning to page seventeen.

For a twelve-year-old kid, Ally felt that he was a lot more mature than he ought to have been. He'd always been very perceptive, and had the uncanny ability to know just what was bothering a person. Their mom had always joked that he'd make an excellent psychoanalyst or counselor later on in life. As far as Ally was concerned, she was just glad he was there at all; the… _incident_ had been horrific, and there'd been that one soul-shattering moment when she'd thought that he'd –

The song ended and she heard a sound just before the next one came. Another glance in Zach's direction revealed that he'd at long last turned the page of his book.

Just how long had he been on page seventeen, anyway?

**…**

"Well, guys, this is our new home!" Rebecca announced merrily, shutting the door and making her way to the trunk.

"Home…" Ally repeated hollowly, staring at the manor with a stony expression on her face.

The old Kingsleigh house stood impressively before them, its Victorian grace and sophistication hardly lost in the past century-and-a-half. It looked as if someone had kept up with it: the lawns were freshly cut, the trees and shrubs were trimmed; the house sported what looked suspiciously like new paint, and even the mailbox looked to be new. It was like some wonderfully wrapped package.

Ally couldn't help but frown at the edifice, failing to notice her brother exiting the station wagon just after her instead of getting out on his own side. The word "home" kept ringing hollowly as in her mind as when she'd spoken aloud.

As far as she was concerned, _home_ was nowhere near here.

"Whoa… Hey, Ally, I think I'm gonna like this place!" She looked in her younger brother's direction and almost felt something inside her tear at the absolute wonder inscribed upon his face. In the past three months, he seldom spoke unless spoken to, and never said much even then. And always in the same lifeless, monotone voice. To hear even so much as that excited whisper that had just passed through his lips gave her some hope that maybe things would turn out for the better.

"Maybe…" she muttered, brow furrowed. The tension that she thought she'd beaten down on the trip was beginning to spread upward from the base of her skull again, and the pressure build-up was rapidly becoming unpleasant again. There was something about this house that made her feel odd, and it felt like it was going to trigger another migraine.

"Well, come on, everyone!" Rebecca called from the back. The sound of squealing brakes startled Ally out of her trance-like gaze up the manor, and snapped her back into reality. The moving van had at long last arrived, and Rebecca looked ready attack her new house with a vigor.

"This place is gonna suck," she heard Gunther mutter as he pocketed the game he'd been hooked on. All she could do was give him a withering glare that remained unseen from under the bill of her cap. Both he and Valerie had been dead-set against moving out into the countryside, more so than they'd been when Rebecca had announced that Ally and Zach would be joining their family.

But, like always, Ally remained silent. In truth, she really had no right to voice any opinions: she and her brother had been taken in by Rebecca's family, and for that she supposed she was grateful (though she could have done without the heated stares she so frequently received from the Shelton-Crawford teens). Even though she was over the legal age, she still had no means to support both Zachary and herself _and_ keep a roof over their heads.

No, it wasn't _their_ home… at least not yet – this was what she told herself as she went to help unload the suitcases and packages from the back of the station wagon. _Home_ was nothing more than a burnt-out memory, but for the little blessings that she'd been granted these past three months, she was willing to make things work out for the best.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:**__ Out of curiosity, would anyone happen to know the general layout of Underland (i.e. which direction Witzend, Marmoreal, Salazem Grum and other locations are, et cetera), or if there is one to reference? All I know is East to Queast and South to Snud. LOL. _

_Until the next chapter - Fairfarren, all! And to everyone in the U.S.: Happy 4th of July! ^_^_


	3. Chapter 2: Six Impossible Things

_"The past is a ghost, the future a dream, and all we ever have is now."_  
>– Bill Cosby<p>

**Chapter 2: Six Impossible Things**

_As he placed his hat atop his head, he couldn't help but feel invigorated. It felt so good to Futterwacken again –this wonderful Frabjous Day had been the perfect occasion for it. But all that swelling pleasure at having gotten that out of his system after so long began to dwindle upon seeing Mirana handing the vial of Jabberwocky blood to the Champion. _

_He heard the short exchange verbatim: Alice was going to leave again._

_Why so soon? Why now? She'd only just gotten here and regained her muchness; she'd only slain the Jabberwocky mere moments ago! Would it have harmed any of them if she stayed for even a short while longer? Would it – could it – have changed anything?_

_These and so many other thoughts – many of which were of the usual incoherent type he'd long ago become accustomed to – went through his mind as he stepped up silently behind her. He shoved aside menial whispers of hat designs, scones, and tea as he tried to come up with something – __**anything**__ – he could do to entice her stay and realize that this was where she belonged. She completed him, made him whole; she'd dragged him out of that momentary lapse of violent insanity in Salazen Grum. Surely… surely that accounted for something…_

_But as he stood behind her and watched as she made to down the vial's contents, he suddenly found words difficult. It seemed like an eternity that he battled with himself all the things he could have said to her before only three words came out, hesitating and almost shy:_

"_You could stay."_

_And then she turned to face him, that darling smile alighting on her face. Even after facing that monstrosity, she still looked as brilliant as the morning sun. It made him feel uplifted despite his inner turmoil._

"_What an idea," she said. "A crazy, mad, wonderful idea." He felt his heart leap in that moment. In her eyes, he could see her mind working at the notion: to stay! To stay and never leave, keeping her muchness and just being… __**Alice**__._

_But then, her face fell._

"_But I can't. There are questions I have to answer. Things I have to do." The smile he wore dropped completely as she spoke those words. And when she tilted her head back and swallowed the purple fluid, something deep down (His heart? His muchness?) shattered into a million pieces. His eyes could only follow that horrible little glass tube in her hand even after it was empty._

_Why?_

**…**

Tarrant Hightopp snorted in his sleep and mumbled incoherently before returning to the long session of light snores that accompanied his slumber. Arms folded and chin resting upon his chest as he shifted only slightly in his chair; he would have appeared to be dead to passerby if not for the gentle rise and fall of his breathing.

How long it had been since the day he'd again run afoul of Time's capricious temper he did not know – the days and nights following Frabjous Day blended and blurred into indiscernible fragments of his tentative memory, precious few moments standing out in the haze. The only things that he knew to be continuous in his mercury-addled mind were hats, tea, promises, and Alice.

Lovely, muchy Alice.

There had been many times in his Time-induced slumber that he thought he'd heard the young lass's voice. Phantom mutterings of, "Sir? Sir?" had intruded upon his dreaming more times then he'd cared to acknowledge. A few times, he'd thought it sounded familiar, like a ghost of a memory when a golden-haired child had first intruded upon an Un-birthday Party. More than once he'd felt a hand shake him gently by the shoulder.

But still he did not wake. Whether the voice who continued to visit him in his sleep was real or spectral, Tarrant Hightopp would not move from his spot at the table. Somewhere along the way, Time had become offended once again, and the Hatter had only stoked the fires of its fickle temperament. It was once upon a memory that the milliner had conspired (quite seriously, he was proud to admit) to kill Time in order for it to move faster. It was for this conspiracy that Time held little patience in reserve for the last remaining member of the Hightopp clan. Very little. And in its thinly stretched forbearance, Time had bestowed sleep upon the mad man in retaliation for his latest offense. Time had become ever so much fouler in Alice's absence than it had been before.

The moments when his hazy dreams would be interrupted often caused him to wonder if Time had created little illusions to drive him further into madness. The voice that came to him so often sounded so much like Alice… so _painfully_ like Alice… so like her that he'd at long last been able to arouse himself for only brief intervals, long enough to mumble the question he was certain she would remember, even if only in a fragmented dream:

"Why is a raven like a writing desk?"

He had yet to hear the voice's response. This only served to confirm his suspicion that Time had seen fit to toy with him while awaiting fair Alice's return.

With this thought tucked away in the ribbon of his hat, he slumbered on, his dreams wandering into giving consideration to things beginning with the letter M…

**…**

Stepping into the Kingsleigh house was quite unlike anything either Ally or her brother had ever experienced: never in their lives had they been to such a large and roomy home! The gracious staircase that led to the second floor from the main hallway and the sophisticated parlor off to the side made Rebecca's old terraced house look poor in comparison (and their own even more so, now that there was barely anything left of it, Ally couldn't help but think bitterly). Despite there being furniture draped in white sheets and making the visible parts of the home feel as if it were crowded by spectres, there was a warm and inviting feel to it. Almost… _nostalgic_.

'_Maybe it won't be so bad after all…'_

"Beautiful, isn't it?" she heard Rebecca breathe, followed by the sound of the woman dumping her armful of bags off to the side, near the parlor entrance. "It was commissioned in the early to mid-1800s by Charles Kingsleigh's father Martin shortly before he died, and Charles came into ownership of it after he married Helen Adams."

"Wow…" Zach whispered. Ally was impressed as well: to think that they were actually standing in such an old home and it still looked so new!

"There you go again: talking about Great-to-the-Googolplex Grandpa Charles," Valerie sighed as she set her two bags next to her mother's pile.

Rebecca looked at her narrowly, clearly offended by her daughter's lack of respect for their ancestry. "I'll have you know that Charles Kingsleigh was one of the most important members of our family. If it wasn't for his vision of expanded trade, his ingenuity, and the inspiration his daughter Alice drew from his very existence, our family might not have fared as well as it did in the times following the Victorian era."

Upon hearing the name Alice, Ally felt a tingle run down her spine and up the back of her skull, washing over the tension that had been steadily building up since their arrival. It felt strange, but the tension soon dissipated along with the tingling.

'_That's weird…'_

"Yeah, yeah. Great-to-the-Googolplex Crazy Grandpa Charles and his daughter, Great-to-the-Umpteenth Mad Auntie Alice, who made a breakthrough in trading with China. We were doing fine until the trading company got bought out and dragged down by the whole Opium Wars thing." Valerie snorted. "Honestly, Mum, they were great and all, but they weren't _that_ spectacular."

"They were both right nutters," Gunther grunted as he wedged in through the door under the weight of three large boxes.

"Nutters?" Ally repeated, surprising both her brother and their caretaker a bit.

"Yeah, nutters," Gunther stated, dropping the boxes to the ground. "One wanted to go halfway round the world on some kind of whim but died before he could get anyone to go with it. The other one actually went out and did it and _she_ believed in fairy tales and rot until the day she died."

The look on Rebecca's face was positively thunderous.

"But if they helped out with England's trading ventures in China, wouldn't that have made them more like geniuses?" Zach looked at Rebecca inquiringly as Ally did the same from under the bill of her cap.

That simple question seemed to do the trick, and the angry look quickly dissipated as Rebecca offered them a broad grin. "Well, that's what _I_ think. Unfortunately, not everyone shares that same viewpoint." She cast an all-telling, narrowed glance in the direction of her children. "But I can always tell you more about Charles and Alice Kingsleigh at a later point. Right now – Ally, Zach – I want you two to get acquainted with the house. Ninety-nine percent of what we brought is our rubbish anyway, and my two have already seen the place. Why don't you go and see where your bedrooms are? I hope you don't mind, but I picked out the two I thought you'd like best." She turned and bounded out the front door, looking more a child than a forty-three-year-old woman as she continued to talk over her shoulder. "I've already marked the doors, so feel free to roam around! If you want to, we can always switch the rooms out. Let me know, okay?"

The two watched as Rebecca dashed out to the small moving truck parked on the outside of the white picket fence, neither inclined to call back to her.

They stood in silence for what felt like a very long moment.

"How do you get acquainted with a house?" Zach asked, at long last breaking the quiet. Ally looked down to find him looking inquisitively up at her. She nearly missed it for all her clouded thoughts, but the old glint in his eyes had somehow magically rekindled.

Then she understood. It was very hard not to grin even a little at the notion.

He grabbed her hand and yanked her towards the staircase, momentarily throwing her back into a memory-induced trance. In that brief and familiar gesture, she felt like she was Zach's age again back when…

_Back when they'd moved out of the flat and into that wonderful old terraced house in Croydon. Out of all the South London Boroughs, Ally thought that Croydon sounded the neatest. And the house was so pretty with its dark wooden floors and stair railing, the off-white walls, and the kind homey quality that never came from their unassuming and modernized flat. The flat lacked character, Mum said; the house had a great deal of it mixed in with charm, which was what made it so wonderful. What was even better, Ally later found out, was that when you stood on the roof, you could actually see Croydon Clocktower!_

"_Okay, you two, time to get acquainted with the house!" Tiffany Bennett cheered, and brought them to the foot of the stair, Ally hanging onto her left hand and five-year-old Zachary practically dangling from her right._

"_How do we get acquainted with it?" Ally asked._

_Her mother laughed merrily. "Simple, Ally! You shout out a great big 'hello' to it! Okay, now on three!"_

"Ready?" Zach asked, one deft yank on her arm bringing his sister back into reality. Ally snapped out of it and grinned a bit uncertainly. The upturning of the corners of her mouth felt a bit foreign after all this time.

But then they fell back again. There was something wrong about it, she felt; something out-of-place. Greeting this house didn't feel right. Not yet. Not so soon. _'Not without Mum…'_

"Zach… I can't," she admitted, pulling back and stopping at the base of the stair. It hurt her to see that his smile had fallen as well. "I-I… I'm sorry."

"Oh…" he frowned up at her, but then gave her a sad grin. "It's okay, Ally. We can do it some other time. The house might not answer us anyway, because it's probably still asleep." His face lit up again, and he tugged on her hand, which he still held clasped in his own. "I know! Let's go check out the rooms Aunt Becky picked out for us! Then we can look around for places we can put Mum's pictures!"

"Well… okay," she responded, allowing her brother to drag her up the staircase.

Unbeknownst to either of them, Rebecca watched as Ally was yanked away. She couldn't help but smile to herself.

'_I really think they'll like it here, Tiffy. It might actually do them a lot of good.'_

**…**

"This sure is one long hallway," Ally remarked as they walked along, their mad dash up the stairs having slowed down to a more casual and leisurely pace upon reaching the second floor. Indeed, the hall was remarkably long, the dark hardwood floors and paneling extending to end with a window and branching out to the left and the right. Old paintings and photographs lined the cream-colored walls, each one depicting a different person. As Ally looked along at the portraits, one in particular caught her sight:

It was a portrait of a pale young woman with beautiful and curly golden hair. It might have been quite long, but it was swept up in a graceful style with strands coming down one either side of her face. In the pale blue dress with white lace gracing the neckline, she looked quite lovely. And the artist had captured something in her chocolate brown eyes – a kind of spark that made her stand out.

Ally made a mental note to ask Rebecca about that portrait. She didn't know why, but there was something awfully familiar about that girl…

"Found it!" Zach's voice pulled her out of from her musings yet again (it had become a ritual on this day it seemed). She blinked and found her brother standing in front of a door, pointing to the paper taped to it. Upon closer inspection, she found that the paper bore her own name in Rebecca's characteristically frantic writing.

"See, Ally, this one's your room." He put out a hand to turn the knob. "Want to –?"

"No," she said hurriedly, her tone causing him to quickly let go of the knob. Seeing this made her cringe inwardly. "No. Let's just…"

She faltered. This house made her feel welcome yet unwanted all at once. Part of her wanted to drag Zach around and go exploring, just like they did when they'd moved into their old house seven years ago. Just look around and find what kind of secret passages and whatnot they could find.

The other part of her was… scared. Scared to take that first step away from everything she used to know; scared to even possibly enjoy herself after so little time had passed. She knew it was a silly thing to dwell upon, but she found it to be nagging at her continuously.

"_Just go for it, Ally. You never know unless you try."_

She shook herself mentally again and offered her brother a weak smile. "Why don't we open it together?"

Zach considered her request for a moment before grinning up at her again. It was then that Ally realized that it was actually quite genuine –relieved – and made all the previous ones seemed forced.

'_Has he been pretending the whole entire time?'_

"Okay, then. On three. One, two…" he placed his hand back on the doorknob, Ally placing her own hand over his.

"THREE!" they exclaimed, twisted the knob, and pushed the door open with enough forced to cause it to hit the wall as it swung wide.

"Wow…" was all she could say. The room was a lovely shade of pale blue, white and blue laced curtains tied and revealing a white-paned window overlooking the countryside. To their left, nestled in the far corner, was a wonderfully soft-looking bed with the same white-and-blue theme as the curtains, though made of a quilted floral material and lace being only along the borders. To their right, they found a small fireplace with a wonderfully elegant dark wood mantelpiece to place pictures on either side of the mantel clock placed in the center, merrily ticking away. Hanging over the mantel was a large wrought gold mirror that extended the full width of the fireplace.

It was in this mirror that Ally looked upon stepping fully into the bedroom, finding her reflection staring back at her with the same unreadable expression. The crystal blue left eye and the dark chocolate one on the right peered out from beneath her mother's old navy blue cap, dark chestnut hair that almost looked closer to black hanging limply around her face, the rest pulled through the hole over the hat's adjuster in a ponytail; her naturally medium-tone skin looked to be a bit paler than normal, likely due to her recent habit of remaining indoors.

And next to her in the reflection of the mirror was Zach, who silently observed the room in awe, hazel-green eyes wide with amazement. Ever the beanpole of the family, he was thin and rather gangly, though hardly tall; like his sister, he was rather short for his age, though not to same extent (Valerie, who was a full three years younger than Ally, was only an inch shorter when the girls stood next to each other). Unlike Ally, who'd inherited her mother's medium skin complexion, Zach was relatively fair-skinned, but tanned wonderfully whenever he was exposed to the sun. His light brown hair was unruly and had tendency to stick out in odd angles even when brushed, but it made him look just as curious and thoughtful as ever. Like now, although he needn't have allowed his jaw to hang open slightly.

Just watching him in the mirror made Ally want to mess his hair up for the fun of it. She hadn't done that since the morning before the incident…

Her reflection frowned sternly at her at the darkened thought. _'Don't brood so much,'_ it seemed to say. _'Try to be the optimist here; Zach can't do it all on his own.'_

"I think Aunt Becky did a good job choosing your room," Zach said quietly, walking over to the cherry wood nightstand sitting next to the bed. "This kind of blue suits you."

"You think so?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Yup. Mum used to say so, too." He flopped backwards onto the bed and sighed.

Ally shook her head, but decided to join him after a moment, and mimicked his movements, laying next to him and staring at the intricately patterned ceiling above them. From below, they could hear Rebecca yelling at Gunther not to slam the boxes down and for Valerie to ignore the incoming messages on her cell.

For a time, they didn't speak. It was one of those moments when words would have only been ruinous and not in the least welcome. Now that they were in a large and roomy house, they could be silent for as long as they liked and not have anyone bother them about the unspoken conversations.

Three months. In that astonishingly short frame of time, so much in their lives had changed. It seemed like only yesterday that Ally graduated midway in the Summer Term, having only still been attending because she'd been held back for her absences and a few missing midterm exam grades from the previous year. They'd celebrated her prolonged escape from the clutches of high school by going out for dinner, all three of them happy and laughing. Life hadn't been all bread and butterflies, as she was sure she'd heard it said at some point in her life. They'd had their share of ups and downs and horrible misunderstandings just like any other family. But three months ago, everything just seemed… perfect.

And not long after… _it_ happened. A small joke about Mum burning the scones she'd promised them turned out to be something far worse, and the scones hadn't been the only things that burned that horrible afternoon…

"Mum would've liked this house," Zach stated, pulling her once again from the charred memories.

Ally considered her brother's words for a moment. "Yeah, I think you're right," she said, thinking back to their mother's unrivaled enthusiasm for historical landmarks and old buildings. Kingsleigh Manor would have automatically become a favorite, especially as it was so far out into the country and away from London.

Silence befell them again, this time the uncomfortable and unwelcome kind. Just that one simple remark sent them both back into the state of uncertainty that had continuously plagued them since that fateful day in late May. As much as Ally wished differently, she had a feeling that dispelling their mixed up and frightened emotions would be no easy task. How could a person even begin to take that first step away from everything they knew and held dear?

And then she had an idea. A strange one. One of those little things whispered in the back of her mind like some sort of secret.

"Hey… Zach?" she hesitated. She hadn't been the first to strike up a conversation like this in the longest time, and what she was about to suggest sounded crazy even to herself.

"Yeah?" he whispered, gripping her hand in silent urging to continue.

"Let's try something," she said, returning the grip. "Just you and me, okay?"

"Okay. What are we going to try?"

"Well…" she felt her mouth run dry. _'I'm going to sound like a complete idiot for saying this.'_ "I was thinking that maybe every day before we go to bed we could try to come up with a list of impossible things we can believe in."

She felt her stomach muscles tense as he let go of her hand. She felt the bed shift and in a couple of blinks found him looking down at her with a frown.

"Would that include the idea that that guy in the top hat is trying to tell you something whenever he asks you about ravens and writing desks?"

It was Ally's turned to frown. "I'm being serious, Zach."

"So am I." He scooted back to allow her to sit up. "If it isn't that disappearing tabby cat, it's the guy wearing that top hat with the price tag still attached to it. What happened to all those other strange dream characters, like the Dormouse and that lady in the white castle?"

"And the teacup-throwing hare and the white rabbit in the waistcoat?" Ally shook her head and looked back up at the mirror. "I haven't dreamt about any of them for a while now," she admitted. "Since the day Mum died, all I've been able to remember about my dreams is wandering about in some weird place or another and running into either the cat with the crazy grin or stumbling across that carrot top at the crooked table in front of some old windmill. And they always say the same things to me: 'What do you call yourself?' and –"

"'Why is a raven like a writing desk?'" Zach concluded, his face twisted in concentration. "Which one do you see the most of?"

"Well, for the past few days I thought the cat was going in for the record, but so far the top hat guy's been the most frequent. The cat just pops up at random and wherever it pleases, which is really weird; the hat guy just sits at the table. And it was only recently that he even bothered talking to me, now that I think about it. It used to be that he'd just slouch in his chair and sleep without even noticing me, but then the dreams just one night started to involve him responding all of a sudden. And always that nonsensical riddle! I really don't know what to make of it."

Zach looked upward thoughtfully for a moment. "They don't really sound like ordinary dream characters… I know!" Ally gave him curious look upon hearing the sudden enthusiasm. "Why not try talking to them instead of avoiding them? Maybe you can find out what they really mean!"

Her curious look turned sour. "Are you kidding me? I can't help how I act in a dream – half the time, I don't even realize I'm dreaming until I wake up afterwards!"

"Sure you can," he insisted. "It's called lucid dreaming. There are two types: dream-initiated and wake-initiated."

"What's the difference?"

"Dream-initiated is when you dream normally, but eventully become aware that it's a dream and have control over your actions. Wake-initiated is where you go directly into dreaming without any apparent lapse in consciousness, but I really don't have any idea how it works. Either way, all you have to do is let the dream continue, but be aware of that it's actually a dream. That way, when you meet up with either the hat guy or the disappearing tabby, you can talk to them and see how far you get before you wake up."

"I dunno… what do I have to do to achieve this 'lucid dreaming'?"

"Well, you've got really good dream recall, so that's a step in the right direction," said Zach, face concentrated once again. "Usually people keep a dream journal, but since we don't want Aunt Becky finding out, you can't write it down."

"But I've always told you and Mum about them," Ally pointed out. "Would that count?"

Zachary nodded. "As long as you keep it up, you should be able to start recognizing your dreams a whole lot better and be able to interact with your dream characters. From the sound of things, I'd say you're already doing it, but you just need to get better at it."

Ally felt confused. "Wait, so every time I got worried or confused was an actual reaction and not just something in my dream?"

Zach nodded again. "And like I said, I think you're already doing it, you just weren't aware of it. Now that you are, maybe it'll help the dreams out more. Who knows? You might be able to put an end to them and start having regular dreams."

"After having the same dreams ever since I can remember?" Ally shook her head. "I don't know where the heck you come up with all your ideas, Dr. Who, but it all sounds a bit far-fetched to me, if not impossible."

"The Internet is a very useful tool," Zach stated wisely before cracking a grin. "And we can put this on that list of impossibilities you were just talking about. Impossibility Number One: Ally can control her dreams."

"Huh?" Ally blinked incredulously. "You mean you actually _like_ that idea?"

"Sure thing. Mum would've liked it, too. But I think we should restrict ourselves to a certain number so we have a reasonable goal to reach each day. And no repeats in a month."

"That sounds good to me," she agreed with a considering nod. "But what number? Not five – it's too conventional."

"How about six?" her brother suggested. "It isn't too big, and it isn't all _that_ conventional."

"Six is good."

"Good, because I think I just found Impossibility Number Two." He pointed over her shoulder. Puzzled, Ally turned round on the bed and blinked.

Fluttering just outside the window was a brilliant blue butterfly.

"I think it wants in," she said, and crossed over to the other side of the room. It took her a moment to fiddle with the latch, but the window opened, permitting the warm country breeze to blow in, bringing the butterfly along with it. The two watched as the butterfly flitted about, approaching Zachary at first before sailing in Ally's direction.

Ally felt herself tense as the butterfly maneuvered itself in front of her face, barely an inch away from her nose. It was truly beautiful, she had to admit; she'd never seen a butterfly in such a magnificent sapphire shade in her entire life. But the way it hovered in front of her, as if staring right into her eyes, threw her off a bit.

"Uh… hello?" she offered, feeling a bit foolish for greeting the insect.

The butterfly looked to have cocked its head to one side before giving a nod, and fluttered around her in a circle. Bewildered, Ally's eyes followed it during its apparent inspection.

"I think it likes you," Zach chuckled, watching as his sister went about in a circle following the winged creature.

"You think?" The butterfly dipped and arced as if to catch another glimpse of her face before it fluttered out the window, its wings beating steadily as it flew against the breeze.

It was then that she heard something in the corner of her. It sounded vaguely like, _"Not quite there yet."_

"That was… weird," she said slowly, watching the insect with nervous eyes. The odd tingling sensation from before had returned, along with the faintest suggestion of a word… no a _name_, beginning with the letter… A?

"What was its name…?" she muttered, mind going hazy over the barely defined thought in her head. Just as quickly as it had come, it disappeared without a trace.

"Say something?" Zach inquired.

"Just think out loud," she replied, shaking off the strange sensation that had just swept over her. She plastered a faint grin on her face before turning to look at her brother. "Let's go see where your room is. Maybe we'll find something else impossible to come up with."

"Okay." He reached out and grabbed her hand again, yanking her back out into the hallway. Ally barely had a chance to give her new bedroom one last glance before hastily pulling it shut behind her.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:**__I looked back over my previous chapter, and found that I'd written Zachary as bit younger than fourteen, and lowered his age by two years to suit him better – forgive me for any slight confusion this may have caused. And the way the Kingsleigh house plays into things will be revealed in the next chapter, where the story begins to pick up a bit in terms of plot. ^_^_

_Special thanks to _deathroman13_ for the link to the map of Underland – it helps out a great deal. Thank you so much! Until the next chapter – Fairfarren, all! ^_^_


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